


In A Big Country

by FiliTheLionKing (IAmYourWatson)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Americana, Because The Author Doesn't Drink Beer, F/F, Found Family, Just Let Them Have A Nice Break Okay?, M/M, Post-Canon, Redeemed Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Shitty Beer And Great Views, Slice of Life, The Author Has No Opinions On Budweiser, brief mention of racism, it's implied really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25820440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourWatson/pseuds/FiliTheLionKing
Summary: Three years have passed since Quynh found her way to into Booker’s apartment. What has happened since then doesn’t really matter. All anyone needs to know, as far as Booker is concerned, is that the Great Plains of America are beautiful, Nile is secretly a sea creature, and his family is finally, truly at peace.All he has to do right now is drink shitty beer and watch the sun set. The world can wait for now.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 167





	In A Big Country

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! This is my first fic in this fandom. I hope you guys enjoy it. Expect more in the future!

Absolutely none of them liked country music, but with a view like this, Booker could _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , see the appeal. Looking out over the vast plains of the heart of America, he could practically hear the soft strumming of a guitar as a deep, masculine voice sang a song about girls, whiskey, and long summer nights spent running through the fields. With the sun setting behind the horizon and painting the sky bright gold and blood red, Booker leaned back in his lawn chair, taking a drink of the watered-down excuse for beer that middle America seemed to adore. Maybe tomorrow they could visit one of those “honky tonks” that featured in every other song pouring out of the radio whenever he drove into town for supplies. A bit of dancing might be fun, and despite his admittedly mediocre attempt at toning down his alcohol intake, Booker might be able to find some of this fabled “moonshine” that this part of the world was famous for.

Then Nile passed in front of him, her eyes fixed on the sunset, and he thought better of it. It wouldn’t be any fun if he had to spend the whole evening glaring at anyone who gave his little sister so much as a sideways look.

The ramshackle ranch house behind him was the newest of their safehouses, bought by Copley during an auction when no one else seemed to want it. It was situated on top of a small hill, giving them a wide sightline that lasted for miles. There were no trees within a mile of the building, and there was only one dirt road to and from the house, which joined up with a small highway about six miles to the west. The house itself was a simple one-story affair, with two bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a living room. Joe and Nicky had taken one bedroom, as per usual, and Andy and Quynh had taken the other. Booker and Nile were a bit put out at having to share the living room, but as a compromise, they were exempt from dish duty after meals, so they shared the pull-out bed with minimal grumbling.

Booker wouldn’t say it out loud, not yet, maybe not ever, but waking up with an armful of Nile was definitely one of the most pleasant ways to start the day. The woman he now considered to be his favorite sister was a sweet thing, tough but kind, and apparently a bit of a starfish. Untangling himself from her arms was a hassle, but he took it with good grace. Everything was strictly platonic between the two of them, no ulterior motives or hidden crushes, just two siblings stuck sharing a bed. And if they ended up in a puppy pile of limbs and fought about the occasional bout of snoring, well? Who could blame them? No one else said a thing, despite surely seeing them together when the two youngest immortals were the last to wake up, and Booker was loathe to break that silence. Joe did _not_ need more ammunition to tease him, thank you very much.

The woman in question sat down next to him, looking out over the rolling fields with a happy sigh. She always seemed a bit more at ease in her home country. Booker loved his native France, just as the others loved their homelands in their own way, but only Booker and Nile had been born to countries that still existed. It was good to see his sister in her element, at home in a culture she understood on a bone-deep level. He then deliberately pushed his mind away from Nile and his musings on culture, having spent a few hours of the afternoon listening to Nile and Nicky debate on the best system of governance. He and Joe had looked at each other with the kind of fond exasperation one saved for their dearest friends, got up from their seats, and put on a football game.

Booker refused to call it soccer.

As the sun finally made its exit from the rapidly darkening sky, Booker turned to Nile and raised an eyebrow, gesturing with his empty bottle of Budweiser, silently asking if she wanted one. She shook her head, declining his offer, and went back to gazing at the tall grass. Booker nodded, standing up and wandering over to the cooler that Quynh had hauled out an hour earlier. He spotted Andy and Quynh curled up on a blanket a few meters away, still well within sight of the house and the others. Even though three years had passed since their reunion, they still hated to be away from each other. Deciding it was better to not think about his first meeting with Quynh and the disaster that was narrowly averted there, Booker looked for Nicky and Joe instead.

Where one was, the other was sure to follow, and that rang true yet again as he found them sitting on the porch. Nicky was perched on Joe’s lap, the two of them sharing the nearly decrepit old rocking chair that had come with the place. Booker had a bet with Nile on when the thing would break, and who would break it. Nile had her money on Andy and Quynh, while Booker figured that the safer bet was their permanent honeymooners. Sure enough, the chair had a few new cracks near the back, and Booker grinned as he thought of how many books he could buy with the spare change. He picked up two extra beers and made his way onto the porch, sure of his welcome in a way he wouldn’t have been just a year prior. Penance had been paid, and while the scars hadn’t disappeared, they had begun to fade, and Booker had his brothers back.

The two somehow managed to tear their eyes away from each other at the sound of his footsteps, and Booker held out the cold bottles like a peace offering. Two soft grins answered his silent question, and Booker lowered himself into the rickety stool that had once served as a footrest for some long-lost companion to the rocking chair. The three of them toasted each other’s health and took a long drink of the cool (and still terribly watery) beer, sharing a knowing glance that spoke volumes about their opinions on the drinks. Snobs, the lot of them. Booker bit back a laugh, not wanting to disturb the quiet atmosphere. He looked back out over the meadow, watching as the first stars began to glow in the evening sky. All may not be right with the world, and it never would be, but here, in this moment, Booker could believe that things would be all right from now on. For their version of all right, at least.

And then his chair broke.

The laughter of his brothers and sisters was enough to soothe his wounded ego.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a sideblog for my The Old Guard stuff. Find it all at comme-un-livre-ouvert.tumblr.com!


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